


For Want of a Nail

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Demons, Gen, Humor, IKEA Furniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-06
Updated: 2009-06-06
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Aziraphale  undertakes one of the torments of hell.





	For Want of a Nail

The bookshop was a scene of chaos - pieces of veneer-covered plywood, assorted screws and brackets and miscellaneous tools littered the floor. Aziraphale looked at the mess, bit his tongue, counted to thirty-six in ancient Mayan, and didn't scream. Right. If he just started again -

"I'm telling you, miracle the blessed thing together."

"No!" Aziraphale said. "It's the principle of the thing," he said through gritted teeth. "If humans can do this sort of thing, _I_ can do this sort of thing."

"I'm pretty sure humans _can't_ ," Crowley said, leaning over to peer at the plans. "I do some of my best business after people have been to IKEA."

Aziraphale looked at him and began muttering in Mayan again. "Hand me the Allen key," he said at last.

"I have no idea what an Allen key is," Crowley said, in tones that suggested he was suffering moral outrage at Aziraphale's degeneracy.

"That L-shaped . . . thing!"

"Why didn't you say so? Here you go."

"Thank. You."

Aziraphale struggled, and almost-swore and got veneer-splinters in his hands, and, just as he was about to proclaim success, realised he'd put the shelving-unit together inside out.

"Are the rough edges meant to be so visible?" Crowley asked helpfully. "It's a sort of whatsit, rustic effect, then?"

Aziraphale bent a look on him that suggested the War could start up again at any moment. "Please hand me the Philips-head screwdriver," he said, with awful, terrible patience. Crowley just looked at him. "And the six millimetre screws and the little round plastic circular objects," Aziraphale added. He had no idea how he had missed using them before, but no doubt they were vital. Crowley looked at him pathetically, as if he couldn't fathom why Aziraphale was saying all these horrible words.

"Maybe _I_ could mirac-" Crowley started brightly.

"Get! Out! Of! My! Shop!" Aziraphale screamed. "Now!"

Crowley got. Aziraphale composed himself, then methodically disassembled the monstrosity, laid all the pieces and components out again and carefully and methodically reassembled it correctly. He only had two screws left over and a strange small piece of metal with a hole in either end, which he thought counted rather as a success. It was time, he thought, to get some fresh air to help his headache clear. He stepped out into the late afternoon, and smiled as the warm sunlight touched his face. Ah, much better.

Inside the shop, the shelving unit listed to one side and slowly collapsed into a heap on the tool-strewn floor.


End file.
